If she were true, we would meet and speak without words…
subconscious kisses ricocheting from the vibrating string theories…a familiar tune…you just can’t quite remember the name of…
like meeting again…for the first time…
and we would squint our eyes and wonder if our minds were more connected than we thought…
If maybe this whole time we were too trapped on AM… to sense we weren’t even on the right frequency…
The squeak and squawk, of static pops
the charcoal and white blizzard crackling into the hissing gray
breaking pockets with the occasional talking head…the score…the stiff cadaver march in the twilight of loveless shadows…
passing by in the night
cold…
Needing more than just a warm cup of tomorrows sunrise.
Straining antenna’s spreading wildly into the sky…for a moment of recognition…
for the soft round click of the dial,
when it bumps gently…suddenly quiet…and then purring…into the music
And you are surprised by joy again
Written by Veron Graham
Topics: Prose Poetry